‘Twas rumoured his own mother was a succubus as well –
And his powers were a payment from her contract writ with hell.
But however – or whomever – Merlin was, how he began
‘Twas conceded his was magic unsurpassed by mortal man.
Now he’s not: and where his tomb is laid is not for certain known:
Whether impish sprites or goblins laboured working marble stone
Or sylvan elves flew down and drew the wizard to the sky.
But Vivien played her traitor’s part: as trainee-witch and spy.
There are rumours that the wizard sleeps. One day he may awake
If comets blaze a lightning trail, and earth splits with earthquake.
Some search to find a grotto vault inscribed with mystic runes.
‘Tis a thankless quest that leads good men to rummage through the tombs!
Thus King Arthur’s frown grows daily for his mentor and his friend
While he sees his lands disintegrate: a sure sign of the end.
But his wizard is unheeding: comatose or just asleep
Or trapped inside some occult snare. Or hidden in the deep.
This riddle none can answer: so well does the secret keep!